


Ruben and Alvie and Coffee and Donuts

by kikabennet



Category: Do No Harm (TV), House M.D.
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Bipolar Disorder, Canonical Child Abuse, Coffee Shops, F/M, M/M, Manic Episode, Multi, Past Abuse, Psychological Torture, Rewrite, Ruben Marcado Lives, Scars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-23 13:30:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23412307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikabennet/pseuds/kikabennet
Summary: 2020 rewrite.After nine torturous months in Jamaica, Ruben winds up with no identity working in a New York City bookstore. He vows never to mixed up in anyone's problems ever again, but when he meets a homeless Juan Alvarez, his instinct to help others returns, but maybe they can help each other on this long road of recovery.
Relationships: Jason Cole/Ruben Marcado, Juan "Alvie" Alvarez/Ruben Marcado, Ruben Marcado/Ian Price
Comments: 16
Kudos: 10





	1. Ruben

**Chapter 1: Ruben**

Ruben stands in the middle of the freshly furnished apartment silently, watching as Ian walks around, checking the lights and the cable and what not. He knows better than to speak up, especially after earlier today when he'd ventured out of the hotel for a few hours and ignored Ian's phone calls. His ribs still hurt and there are bruises under his clothes that he knows are going to go from a purple-blackish color to dingy brown-yellow over the course of a few weeks. He's had plenty of them since his time in Jamaica.

Nine months. That's how long Ruben was in Jamaica. Long enough to create human life. Long enough to destroy his.

Now it's been another three weeks. First crammed into a hotel room, and now Ian's found him an apartment, says he has to stay here and can't go past a four block radius without his permission. He's told Ruben he's _tracking_ him.

Nine months ago, Ruben would have called bullshit, but his mind is so damaged and warped from the past year that Ian could tell him he fly into space and orbit the earth and Ruben would believe it.

Ian purses his lips, rounds the corner to peek into the small kitchen to assure everything is in its place, then steps back into the living room, meeting Ruben's wary gaze. He smiles faintly.

"Looks like you're all set, huh, pal?" he says with an earnest slap to the shoulder.

"Come on, don't just stand there. This is your _home_ , now, Rubes. At least _try_ and act natural," he jokes, as if he wasn't just berating his former colleague in the car over the strict rules he needed to adhere to if he wanted to live on his own.

Ruben nods stiffly, but still doesn't move. This doesn't feel like _home_. Just because he's no longer working day and night on creating a kill drug doesn't mean he's free. It just means he's in a bigger cage.

"My f....family?" He asks, and he hates the stutter he's developed over time. He doesn't know why he's bothering to ask. Ian will never let him see them. The cruelest kind of torture. His family only being a few hours away and he can't even talk to them.

"What about them?" Ian asks, his brows furrowed as if in genuine confusion. "You don't _have_ one, Ruben."

He quickly moves to grab the wallet he's given him, withdrawing from it the fake ID and holding it out to him expectantly. "You're Mateo Delgado. No living family members. Remember?"

His tone is clipped and cool, the lack of empathy nothing new to Ruben.

Ruben feels tears coming to his eyes and has to look away from the fake ID. The one that brought him back to the United States.

"Could you let me know they're alright?" He asks quietly, and there's a good possibility Ian will start screaming at him or strike him, but sometimes, he can show a little compassion.

"I'll talk to some people," Ian just shrugs, afraid to give Ruben _too_ much hope, and much preferring to keep him on edge. He tucked the ID back into his wallet and tosses it haphazardly onto the coffee table. "Tell me the rules again. I want to make sure we're on the same page here."

Ruben lets out a long, shuddering sigh. He knows he's going to start crying, but he tries to keep it together for as long possible.

"I have a four block radius," he says, swallowing hard. "I can't tell anyone my real name. I have to answer your calls and if I miss your call, I have to call you back immediately."

It's the last one that finally allows a few tears to slide down his cheeks.

"I can't contact anyone except for you."

Ian gives a curt nod, then moves to grab his keys. "I might be back later," he says, even though truthfully, he has no intention of doing so. Now that Ruben's more or less out of hair, it was time to get to work and begin his own life again.

Ruben stands there in the middle of the living room for what seems like almost a half hour after Ian leaves, then he finally goes to sit down at one of the chairs of the brand new kitchen table, puts his head in his hands, and begins to sob uncontrollably.

\----

_One day earlier_

Ian gets out of the rental car first, straightening out his shirt and taking a deep breath before he leads the way to the front of the apartment building. An older man is waiting there, greets him with a firm shake, then leads the way up a few flights of stairs.

"Comes with a washer and drier, all appliances.." he informs them, unlocking the front door and stepping aside to allow the two men in. "But I'm sure you already read that in the ad. Take your time looking around. I'll be downstairs in A1."

Ruben obediently says nothing and watches Ian move around the apartment.

"What do you think?" Ian asks after a moment, poking around in the cabinets of the kitchen. He stands there, gaze leveled on Ruben's, expression painfully neutral. "It's pricier than the other ones I looked at, but I'll cover rent, groceries, whatever you need."

Ruben nods. He's still in a lot of pain and he's still mad. Ian can do whatever he wants at this point. Not that he doesn't do whatever he wants anyway.

He almost asks if Ian's staying too, but he knows he isn't. Ian's probably glad to semi be rid of him now. All of the anger drains out of Ruben and is instantly replaced with fear and a deep sadness.

By the time they're back in their shoddy motel room, Ian's cracking jokes and nudging Ruben like they were old pals as he orders furniture for the apartment on his laptop.

“I got you a smart TV, too. Place comes with free wifi,” he shrugs, looking over at him with a raised brow. “You’re welcome? Thank you? Hello?”

"Thank you," Ruben mutters and gets up and heads to the door.

Ian looks up, his brows furrowed and smile quickly fading.

“Where are you going?” he questions, setting his laptop aside and getting to his feet.

"Out," Ruben says, brows furrowed slightly. Ian's about to leave him on his own. Surely he can step out into the hall?

Ian hesitates for a moment, the instinct to keep him here and in sight kicking in, but he just gives a curt nod, instead. He’s got a tracker on his cellphone, and part of him trusts that Ruben won’t make it far without him.

“Okay,” Ian says simply, sinking back down onto the bed. “I’ll be here.”

\---

Ruben finds himself just going up and down the elevators for a while and then ends up in the lobby. There's a nice lite atrium inside with a fountain and he's drawn to it. He's always liked plants and hasn't really seen any since before Jamaica. Plenty of plants there but not that he ever left the house to see them.

After an hour or so, he wanders outside and just stands. He hasn't been able to be outside unless he's being quickly ushered from one hiding spot to the next. It's strange to hear cars and foot traffic. There's a park across the street and a coffee shop where a woman maybe in her mid fifties is sweeping outside. She smiles at him. He smiles back.

"You lost?" She calls.

Ruben truly doesn't know. He crosses the street and asks, "I'm sorry?"

The phone in his hooded sweater pocket vibrates but he ignores it.

"You looked lost," the woman says.

"I've never been here," he says, looking past her where the shop looks so warm and inviting and there are books.

"Come inside," the woman says. "You look like you could use a slice of pie. I make the best apple blueberry pie. No margarine in the crust. Real butter."

He ends up staying and talking a long time with Jan (He knows now) who has been everywhere and done everything. She's lived in a.commune of women poets. She's studied the kazoo. She's raised four children. She's been with dozens of lovers but never married. She's sweet and interesting and talkative and Ruben feels different.

When he finally gets back to the hotel, he freezes at the door. He's been gone for hours.

\---

Ian is sitting on the edge of the bed, glass in hand and some kind of Amber alcohol swirling around inside of it. When he meets Ruben’s gaze, it’s like he’s not there. There’s no Ian, joking around, or Ian, disappointed in him. There’s no _Ian_ at all. There’s a blank expression, and a seething rage burning behind his eyes. Ruben takes a step back, but before he can say a word he’s yanked inside the doorway and thrown to the floor. The door falls heavy behind them, and he doesn’t hesitate to hit him in the face this time. He punches Ruben until he feels his knuckles split, blood smeared on his hand, and he’s not sure who’s it is anymore.

“Listen to me,” Ian huffs, yanking Ruben up by the collar of his sweater, “If you _ever_ fucking ignore my calls again, I will _kill_ you. Do you understand? I’m not fucking around, Marcado. You and your whole goddamn family,” he says through gritted teeth, maneuvering his free hand to take hold of his pocket knife.

Ian presses it to his throat, just enough so that it digs into his skin.

“First your mother, then those _pretty_ little sisters of yours, and then you. Understand?” he shoves Ruben roughly back onto the bed. “You’ve fucked up for the last time. No more second chances. Speak the fuck up and say that you hear me.”

In all of his anger over the past few days, Ruben would just say 'go ahead and kill me' but when his family is thrown in the mix, it changes things. He swallows hard, wiping blood from his nose, and nods furiously.He watches with horror as Ian begins toroll up one of his sleeves.

"Ian, no," he pleads, shaking his head.

"I hear you," he says. "I won't ignore your calls. I _swear_."

Ian shakes his head, yanks Ruben’s arm out straight when he tries to pull it back.

“I think you’re forgetting just what I can do to you, Rubes. Been too easy on you, and honestly? That’s my mistake. But I won’t make it again.”

He digs the knife into scarred flesh, cutting him just below his bicep in a horizontal line, then promptly digs his thumb into the wound. Before Ruben can even scream, though, he clamps his other hand hard over his mouth, his eyes wild with rage.

“Don’t _fucking_ forget again, you pathetic little shit. Or next time it’ll be your mother screaming.”

Ruben nods and after several minutes of.them both just panting, the sheets now soaked with blood, Ruben can only curl up on his side and just sort of shut down

"You're okay," he whispers shakily under his breath, practically forgetting Ian is even there.

Ian swallows thickly, finally pulling off of Ruben and wordlessly taking to the bathroom. He takes a shower, cleans off his knife, then redresses and throws a towel at Ruben to staunch the flow of blood. “Get cleaned up. I’m taking you to the apartment.”

Ruben can barely find the energy to stand, let alone shower so when he finally stumbles into the bathroom and closes and locks the door, he sits on the floor and starts sobbing uncontrollably

Ian has never beat him this severely before and everything's just so _wrong_

He can't seem to get a hold of himself and cries and cries and cries.

After a while, he finally manages to stand up and get to the sink, cleaning the gash on his arm but ignores the blood all over his face and clothes.

He comes out of the bathroom and wipes at his still bleeding nose with his sleeve.

Ian has already thrown together his worn backpack, packing their things up and taking with him the bloodied sheets and towels. Without speaking, her grabs a rag and wets it in the bathroom sink, then moves over to carefully wipe at Ruben’s face. He knows he can’t go out still _bleeding_.

“Here,” Ian says, passing him a pair of sunglasses and a baseball hat. “Let’s go.”

The drive is completely silent and once they're actually there and inside the apartment, Ruben has a hard time standing but he does, trying not to double over as Ian walks around checking out the place.

His whole body aches and stings, but what's worse than his probably broken ribs are his hurt, broken feelings. When Ian disappears into the bedroom, he all but collapses in one of the kitchen chairs, holding his ribs. They're tender to the touch.

Ian checks out the furniture that’s been delivered, turns the tv on and off, then sets Ruben’s small cellphone on the table before him.

“Answer when I call. I’ll be back soon to check in,” he says rather bluntly, then gathers his things and starts out the door, and he feels not a shred of remorse for leaving Ruben behind. 

The night goes by in a blur and the following morning, it's like Ruben's feet take him back to Jan' s book shop. He's not even sure how he remembers where it is.

\-----

Jan is setting up.for the morning when the overhead doorbell chimes.

"Sorry, we're not quite open," she calls and then freezes when she sees the young man from yesterday, only on far worse condition. Without a word, she goes over to him, gently cupping his cheeks-one of them swollen.

Ruben’s face is swollen, his ribs still aching and the gash on his arm gives a dull throb in time with his pulse. It’s bandaged crudely with a clean t-shirt, which makes his arm look lumpy beneath the sleeve of his sweater. He flinched only slightly when Jan comes over to cup his cheeks.

“Hi..” he says quietly, his voice hoarse. “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t realize the time. When do you open?”

"Oh, Dear Heart, " she says softly and leads him to a very old style washroom and starts water in the stand alone basin. She gestures for him to take a seat on the closed toilet lid.

As she very gently tends to the wounds on his face, she says softly, "You know, I never did get your name."

Ruben doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t argue being led to the bathroom, or sat down on the toilet. It’s been so, _so_ long since someone’s taken care of him, and if only for a few minutes, it’s what he needs right now. He winces a little at the gently wiping of a scrape on his cheek, dark eyes downcast as they blur with tears. Does he even really have a name anymore? He’s not Ruben. He hasn’t been Ruben for such a long time.

“It’s...” Ruben swallows thickly, then shakes his head. “I can’t.”

"You can tell me your first name," she says. "I'll make up the perfect family name for it."

She finishes doctoring his face and brushes some of his hair back with her fingers.

Ruben exhales shakily, his eyes falling shut for a brief moment. “It’s Ruben..” he breathes, sniffling slightly before he tries to sit up, but his breath hitches and he sinks back down. “I’m sorry. I just....I didn’t- diiidn’t know where else to go.”

"You came to just the right place," Jan tells him. "I just ordered hot coffee and croissants. Would you like to join me for breakfast?"

She strokes some of his hair again and says, "You have very kind eyes, Ruben."

For a second, Ruben hesitates, but Ian’s gone and his phone is in his pocket. He knows where he is. If he needs him, he’ll call, and right now? Ruben knows he’s the last thing on Ian’s mind. The least he can do is relax, if only for a little bit. “If that’s okay,” he says quietly, sniffling again as he absent-mindedly leans into Jan’s gentle touch.

She leads him out of the washroom and to one of the cozy corner tables.

"Have you read anything by JD Salinger?" She asks, taking croissants and fruit and coffee on the small table like they're in a cafe in Paris.

Ruben holds his side as he walks over to the table, carefully sinking down into the wooden chair before another shaky exhale escapes him. He sniffs, looks up, and gives a soft shake of his head. “No, I— don’t think I have. Not in a long time, anyways,” he says quietly, picking at the croissant and taking small bites here and there. “

"What do you like to read?" She asks, pouring him some coffee.

Once she sees he's beginning to relax, she reaches over and takes his hand and asks, "Are you in trouble, Ruben?"

“No,” Ruben says quietly, even though he knows that’s a lie. “I-I’m fine now. I just- just moved in down the block, actually,” he clears his throat, then takes another sip of coffee. “I haven’t had the time to read in awhile, but I...prefer subjects of science, journals, things like that.”

Jan smiles and says, "Well, neighbor, I'd like to see you around here more."

She talks about different science journals she enjoys and the weather and her favorite customers.

Halfway through their time together, Ruben actually starts to smile, though the expression is faint on account of his face hurting too much. He even laughs a little at one of Jan’s off-handed jokes about working too much.

“Thank you,” Ruben says after a brief moment of comfortable silence, “For letting me come in, today. A-And for the food. It was great.”

Jan smiles and says, " _Thank you_. It was lovely. Will you be back tomorrow?"

Ruben blinks slowly, like he’s still processing what she’s asked, but then he nods. “Is— the same time okay?”

"Of course," she says. She goes over to give him a small, gentle hug. She hands him a book.

" _Nine Stories_ " she says. "JD Salinger."

Ruben smiles softly and looks over the book, thumb absently tracing the embossed, worn cover.

“I’ll read it tonight,” he promises, “Give you a full review tomorrow. Thank you, again, Jan.”

As he walks away, she calls, "Ruben? Come back."

She waits for him to come back and hands him a sheet of paper with her number on it.

"Day or night," she promises. "I'm here."

Ruben stares at the paper for a long moment, his vision blurring with tears he couldn’t quite bite back anymore. He sniffs and wipes quickly at his cheeks and nods.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, voice cracking slightly despite his best efforts.

To Be Continued...

Find us on tumblr with lots of Ruben and Alvie art as well!

[Kikabennet](https://kikabennet.tumblr.com/)

[tiredalwavs](https://tiredalwavs.tumblr.com/)


	2. Alvie

Alvie

Alvie's sick of being cold, and while he's only got fifteen bucks and a pocket full of quarters to his name, stealing into some packed little bar and warming up with some alcohol sounds like a dream. He shrugs his backpack onto his shoulder from where it keeps slipping and steps into the dimly lit space, figuring he's stared enough at it over the last few minutes to already know he's made up his mind. He goes over to the pool table first. He likes pool, even if he's not very good at it. 

"Uhm. Whatever your cheapest tequila is? I don't care. I just want a shot or two," He says as he slips up onto a bar stool, dark eyes roving around the strangers that filled the place.

The halfway house he's been staying in is only two or three blocks from here, but somewhere in the back of his mind, Alvie's already hoping someone here would be interested enough to take him home so he can sleep in an actual bed, in an actual _home_. Not that he's much to be interested in, especially given his state. It's been three weeks since he was released from Mayfield, two weeks since he's had a proper meal, and one since he tossed his meds. Nothing really seemed to matter anymore beyond not freezing to death and having a decent time doing it. Besides, Alvie figured he could use a good lay. It's been way too long, and he hates the antsy feeling of being pent up. Once he gets his drinks, he tosses them back one after the other, wipes a hand over his mouth with the back of his hoodie sleeve, then locks eyes with some taller blonde guy from across the room. Had he been looking at him already, or was he the one was looking first? Alvie isn't sure, but he offers the guy a half smile and tilts his head a little, then turns back to eye the menu for drink specials.

Alvie stands from the pool table and haphazardly tosses his cue to rest in a corner by the juke box. He weaves through the crowded space and takes the empty seat at the bar.

"There a reason you been eyein' me all night, or...?" he asks with a teasing grin, unable to help how satisfied he's feeling with his luck. A few drinks and surely this guy was gonna lean in and say they should ' _get outta here_ '. Alvie's played this game enough to know the usual process of events.

"Someone could probably hear you from two buildings over," The guy tells him. "Having a good time?" He gestures to the pool table.

"Oh, yeah. I used to play professionally, you know?" Alvie says with a grin, but then gives a little shake of his head. "Just kidding. I ain't the best at pool, but _basketball_ on the other hand? I could school all of these sacks of flour at horse. That's for sure," he hums, letting his backpack slip from his shoulder to fall to the floor space between their seats. "What about you? You havin' fun, here with your buddies, I'm guessing?"

"Yeah, they're heading out," The guy says. "Going to Nantucket for the weekend. Not me. I have work."

He takes a drink and then looks Alvie up and down. "Your girlfriend here or..."

Alvie feels that same sort of hesitation. Some guys ask because they're interested, others ask so they can catch him in the alley afterwards and beat the living shit out of him for fun.

He shrugs lightly, "I don't got any girlfriend. Do you? Where do you work?" he asks curiously, and it's only then that he's conscious of how loud he's talking. Sure, there's clatter and music and people talking that make it a bit difficult to hear, but he's talking well above the volume of the joint. It's one of the tell-tale signs that he's riding mania. It's hard to gauge that kinda thing, but he needs to be more careful. _Some_ guys ask because they're interested, but don't want anyone else to know that's the case.

"Right now I'm at JEC over near Princeton," he says. "I'm a paralegal."

"I'm gonna be real with you," Alvie can't help but laugh a little, "I don't know what that even is. Is it like, a lawyer or somethin'?" he asks, mindful of his volume this time, though the end of his question rises towards the end despite his best attempts to keep it down. "That sounds like it'd be cool work. Get to say, "I object!" all the time and slam a little hammer or whatever."

The guy laughs, leaning in as he waves to the bartender for two more drinks.

"Have you ever worked in a restaurant? I'm like the server, but for lawyers. I do all the real heavy lifting and they get their fucking name on the door."

"No, I worked at a grocery store for a week when I was sixteen, but I _did_ work at a butcher shop with my grandpa for like, six months or somethin'," Alvie shrugs. At the other guy's explanation, then, he frowns.

"Ah, so you do all the shit and get none of the credit? That's _wack_. You should do somethin' else. I think bein' like...a coffee shop guy would be kinda cool, you know? You get to make coffee and eat all the fancy little pastries and eavesdrop on people's weird business calls all day.."

"Almost went to medical school," Eric says with a shrug. "Decided on law, ended up a paralegal. Might switch over to something else."

He looks at his phone. "Shit, Man. I gotta get going."

"You, uh, have plans?" He asks, taking a final drink.

Alvie looks over as the bartender sits down both of their drinks just as the guy is checking his phone. He can't help the disappointment that shows on his features, but hey-- at least he got a drink out of the whole deal. He takes a long sip, then raises his brows at his question. "No, I ain't got nothin' important goin' on. Why? Seems like you do, if you gotta jet so soon. It ain't even past midnight yet."

"You, uh," The guy dares to touch his arm. "Wanna get out of here?"

Alvie can't help the lopsided grin that takes over his features.

"Thought you'd never ask," he says, then tosses back the rest of his drink and slips off the bar stool to grab his backpack.

"I'm Eric," the guy says, thrusting out his hand like they haven't been talking for half an hour.

"Juan," Alvie says. "But I go by Alvie."

\---

Once they're back at Eric's apartment, he wastes no time putting his hands and mouth on Alvie now that he knows they're on the same page. Alvie seems really tired, and he feels kind of bad about not letting him take even a few minutes to sit down or anything, but he's also getting tired and so he kind of wants to get off soon.

"I..." he kisses his neck, working to remove Alvie's clothes when Alvie's moving too slow. "take it you bottom?"

Alvie tilts his head upwards, drinking in the sensation of a warm mouth on his throat. By now the alcohol's settled on his empty stomach and steady in his bloodstream, making his head feel a bit fuzzy and his exhaustion that much more apparent. Skipping nights at the halfway house in favor of staying up all night just to pass out on park benches was finally beginning to take its toll, it seemed.

"Mm... yeah. I do-- I do whatever you want me to do. Whichever. I don't care," he mumbles, cold fingertips dipping underneath the hem of Eric's shirt.

"Cool." Eric all but pushes him onto the bed. "Stay awake, alright, Alvie?"

He decides to skip foreplay all together and just gets the lube and the condom and says, "You can shower and crash here if you want."

"'S long as you don't put me to sleep, then I think Imma be fine," Alvie laughs a little into the mattress, then turns his head to look back at Eric.

"Really?" he asks, like he wants to make sure he really means that and he's not just saying it. Once Eric nods, Alvie gives him that warm smile again, something like relief only heightening his current state of alcohol-induced euphoria. "Thanks. Bonus points to you for offering before we even fucked, though. That like, never happens."

"Well," Eric says, already pushing into him. "You look really tired so..."

Alvie makes a sound caught somewhere between pleasure and pain, his hands gripping hard at the plush comforter beneath him.

"That's 'cause I-- _ngh_ \--am," he groans softly, clearly still adjusting after having gone such a long time without. He turns his head to the side so that he can look at Eric again, a dopey smile playing across his lips. "But this seems-- _god_ \-- worth stayin' up for.

\---

He lets Alvie sleep in the next morning and it's actually kind of nice having him during the day too. Alvie doesn't care about how expensive his furniture is or where the art on the walls came from. Alvie even makes brunch.

"These eggs are delicious," Eric compliments him. "It's nice to finally eat just regular food. No kale, no substitutes, no gluten free mumbo jumbo. I've missed eggs and toast."

"I don't even understand kale," Alvie admits as he chases a little piece of scrambled egg around on his plate, "Like, what's so special 'bout spinach's more tasteless cousin? It's gross and I don't like it. I don't like any of that weird health stuff. I had a friend," he starts to say, but stops to take a few gulps of orange juice and consider _not_ mentioning said friend was actually just another patient back at Ward 6, "And he was like, _obsessed_ with protein and carb and _mineral_ intake. Who even _does_ that, y'know? Like just enjoy some damn food. Live your life, man."

\---

The morning turns into the day and the days turns into _days_ and after a few weeks of Alvie being more of a fuck buddy and a roommate, Eric wonders if they should maybe go steady. Alvie isn't boyfriend material-not by a long shot, certainly not someone he could bring home to his parents. Sure, he's fun and easy to get along with and gentle and kind, but he has no job, no money, no family...

"I'm, uh, going out with Rhett tonight," he tells Alvie as they work together to clear away lunch dishes. "I might be in pretty late."

He's honestly been wondering about their status. Are they getting to a point that they should be exclusive or are 'other people' still okay? He looks at Alvie, searching his face for clues.

Alvie’s never been in what could be considered a functional, healthy relationship before. Sometimes that was his own fault, because being manic/depressive didn’t exactly help things like trust and mutual care flourish. Most people kicked him to the curb after they had had their fun, and Alvie was used to it. It seemed like...maybe this was going to happen soon, with Eric. He didn’t seem as interested as before, nor did he invite Alvie along with him when he went out. And that was okay. He never expected to be some significant part in this guy’s life, but... it still kinda sucked.

“Yeah, that’s...that’s cool,” he nodded, reaching one hand up to pull at his hair. “Who’s Rhett again?”

"Old college friend," Eric replies. "You've never met him."

He doesn't really know what to say after that.

"Unless...you know," he tries. "you'd wanna..."

Alvie looks back at Eric more fully this time, dark brows furrowed and something like excitement thrumming in his chest. “Wanna...? What?” he asks, unable to help but laugh a little awkwardly, “You want me to come with?

"If you want," Eric says with a shrug. "Or we could stay here....do you have plans?"

He's starting to think that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to take a break and date someone like Alvie for a while, but he needs to know if Alvie's even up for that sort of thing.

"We could go get dinner," he says, trying to sound casual. "Sushi sound good?"

Alvie’s not so sure what Eric’s getting at, because one second he seems kinda off-standish and dismissive, and then the other he’s inviting him out to dinner. It’s hard to wrap his head around, and he’s not the best at reading social cues, but sushi sounded damn good right about now.

“Yeah,” Alvie beams, dark eyes lit up with excitement, “Just— me an’ you or is Rhett comin’ too?”

Eric leans in and kisses him very softly.

"I'll leave that up to you," he says just as soft, cupping Alvie's cheek before walking out of the kitchen.

Alvie stands there a little dazed from Eric’s sudden tenderness, his cheek still warm from the hand that had just been there. Maybe...he had this guy pegged all wrong. Maybe this _was_ something significant to him. Maybe he mattered to Eric. _Actually_ mattered.

“Uhm,” Alvie speaks up, starting to follow Eric back into the living room, “I kinda...want it to be me and you? If that’s cool.”

He wears a sheepish little smile, his hand finally falling from where it had been fixated in his hair.

“It could be uh...like a date or somethin’? If you want it to be. I mean. I dunno. If you’re interested in somethin’ like that.”

\---

The restaurant is a nice little place sandwiched between two larger buildings in an upscale neighborhood. It's dark inside, most of the lighting coming from a candle on the table. Eric orders for both of them and stares into the candle flame.

"The last time I was here was with that asshole, Devon," he says. "So let's make new memories tonight."

He orders fancy rice wine called Sake and different kinds of sushi and nagiri and mochi ice cream for dessert. He touches Alvie's hand and laughs at things he says and they have a really good time.

Alvie sticks the tip of his pinky in his mouth, then holds it over the flame with a childish grin.

“See? I’m _immune_ , I wasn’t kiddin’,” he carries on with his running joke about not being _flaming_ gay, his head delightfully fuzzy from all of the sake and healthy dose of sugar from dessert. He’s not been manic in awhile, but he’s talking loud still and he knows the upswing is riding just under his skin. For a moment, Alvie considers telling Eric about his diagnosis, but decides against it when he takes his hand over the table and says something low about getting back home.

\----

Sex is different that night. Eric takes his time with Alvie, asking him what he wants and kisses him longer. As they're laying in the bask of the afterglow, he strokes Alvie's hair and asks, "How do you feel about _not_ seeing other people?"

He kisses Alvie's sweaty forehead and adds, "You could stay here. With me."

Alvie considers that for a brief moment with brows furrowed slightly.

“You really want me to stay?” he asks, rolling over onto his side to better look at Eric in the dim light of his bedroom. “‘Cause...I know I can be kind of annoying, and— I don’t want you to feel obligated or nothin’, but— I like you. A lot. And I love bein’ here,” he explains, dark eyes searching Eric’s for some sort of assurance that he really meant what he was saying.

Eric kisses him again and says, "Yeah. I really want you to".

\------

The next few months are great. Alvie meets some of Eric's friends-a lot of them Princeton students or graduates or other paralegals. They adopt a filthy and loud stray kitten and she is christened Phoebe. They jokingly call her "daughter" when she is yowling for food and sticking her small cat arms under the door when they shut her out of the bedroom.

Eric starts to pester Alvie about finding a job. Not that he can't support them both. Aside from his job, he's a trust fund baby and has plenty of money, but he's beginning to feel...smothered. Alvie is good about keeping house and cooking and what not, but sometimes he just lays around and does nothing. He'll just stay in bed all day like he's hung over. Sometimes he'll want to go out really late even when Eric has to work in the morning.

"I can't stay out until stupid o'clock like you can," he finally snaps one evening as Alvie's begging to go out after dinner. "I have a job."

“I know, but—“ Alvie huffs with frustration, his hand in his hair as his foot taps incessantly under the table.

“I can’t stay in the house all day, neither, and I wanna— I just wanna go _do_ somethin’, and I wanna do it with you. Can we just go out for a little bit? Go get drinks or somethin’?”

He’s talking too loud, he can feel it, but he can’t help it either. Each of his thoughts feel electrified, every impulse intense. Alvie wants to be out and party and talk to people and get drunk and fuck in some sort of sketchy bathroom. But he wants to do it with _Eric_ , which is why this is so hard. If Eric doesn’t go with him, he just _knows_ he’s going to get out of control.

Eric ignores him,texting someone on his phone.

When Alvie tries again, Eric snaps, "I said no! Put on fucking Netflix or something."

Alvie draws back like he’s been slapped, chewing hard on the inside of his lower lip. He’s not trying to upset Eric, but he _needs_ this. He just doesn’t understand. So Alvie gets up finally and fumbles in his rush to put on his jacket, to tug on his shoes.

“Then I’m goin’ without you. I’m not sittin’ around all damn night just ‘cause you want me to,” he says, trying to sound equally as hurtful, but his voice wavers slightly and betrays him.

Alvie’s not sure if Eric would’ve tried to stop him, or if he said anything else after that, because without hesitation, he takes off out the front door, one hand buried in his hair and his heart thumping loud against his sternum. His whole body feels electric. Why couldn’t Eric understand that? He _needs_ to do _something_.

\----

The next few days get worse. Alvie and Eric aren't speaking to one another and Devon has been texting. Eric is actually starting to miss Devon. Sure, he was a pretentious ass and his father is the president of the university, but at least Devon has life goals and doesn't talk like a shrill mosquito and...Eric decides he's beginning to outgrow Alvie.

_I'm working late tonight_ He texts one night, already having made plans to go grab dinner and drinks with Devon. Probably a good lay too. _There's money in the usual place if you want pizza or wanna go out or something_

_oh. i thought you might wanna watch that new iron man movie? When do you think you’ll be back? I can record it and wait also I did the laundry :)_

It’s clear Alvie’s been trying to get back in Eric’s good graces. He’s slipping from his mania and in that weird grey area before he drops. It the most ‘normal’ he ever feels, and he’s hoping it lasts long enough to convince Eric that can be a good boyfriend again.

_I'm not sure. A couple of my coworkers wanna go to dinner after_

Eric sighs as he sends his next text.

_Don't wait up_

_Ok. I’ll put the clothes away and stuff_

Alvie puts his phone down and starts doing just that, feeling almost desperate to make sure Eric comes home and is impressed with how much he’s cleaned, with how much he’s done and is willing to do. But once midnight, then one, then two o’clock rolls around...he begins to worry. Because of course he waited up.

_hey, are you heading home yet?_

_Sorry. I had a little too much to drink and my friend got me a hotel! I'll be home in the morning XOXO_

Eric places his phone back down and Devon sits up on his elbows.

"Wasswrong?" He asks sleepily.

"Fucking Alvie..." Eric sighs.

\---

Alvie rakes a hand through his hair, unsure why his anxiety is rising so high, but he needs something, some _one_ to bring him some comfort. He knows he’s going to crash soon, and...he’s scared. Eric isn’t going to like him when he can’t get out of bed. He needs to spend as much time with him as he can before then, to prove himself worth sticking around for.

_I can come pick you up or somethin? Get a cab and all that so you don’t gotta sleep in some random hotel_

...

_I miss you_

_\---_

The next morning, Eric gets in early and Alvie is asleep on the couch-phone in hand. He strokes some of his hair and says quietly, "Babe, Im home."

He decides he'll treat Alvie extra nice today. He can see that his boyfriend has thoroughly cleaned the apartment from top to bottom.

"Alvie? Come on, lets get you in bed."

Alvie blinks awake slowly. He already feels that sort of unshakeable exhaustion weighing down his limbs, but he still pushes himself up to sit on the couch. He rubs at his eyes as the night before comes back to him in bits and pieces. Alvie stayed up until 6 in the morning, the majority of it spent crying and panicking once his phone had died and he couldn’t find the charger. He was afraid Eric wasn’t coming back at all, and that even if he did, he wouldn’t want him anymore. He would have had enough time away to change his mind about being with him. But— Eric was here now. His voice was soft and he gently smoothed back his hair and... maybe Alvie had worked himself up all over nothing.

“Don’t wanna sleep,” Alvie mumbles, then instinctively reaches out to hug Eric around the neck, craving the closeness, the comfort. “Missed you.”

\---

He's worried when Alvie stays on the couch all day and night the following day.

"Alvie, what are you taking?" He asks when he returns home from work. "Just tell me."

Alvie doesn’t have the energy to even lift his head. He stays curled up on the couch with a throw blanket tucked around his shoulders and doesn’t answer at first. When Eric presses again, though, and his tone rises slightly, Alvie forces himself to speak up.

“I’m not takin’ nothin’..” he mumbles, reaching up to rub hard at his eyes. “‘M jus’ tired, Eric.”

"This happened almost a month ago," Eric says. "Youre on something."

\----

For the next few days, Eric stays with Devon who urges him to leave Alvie.

\---

Alvie’s like this for a little over a week, which, truthfully, is on the shorter side of his usual depressive episodes. It’s gradual, but eventually he begins to feel something like normal. He showers and dresses, forces to down a piece of toast, then musters up the courage to text Eric. He doesn’t know where his boyfriend’s been for the past few days, but he doesn’t exactly blame him for his absence. Alvie hates himself when he’s like this, too. But maybe Eric will give him another chance.

_I’m sorry_

That’s the first thing Alvie can think of to say, then,

_Can I see you? I wanna say that in person._ _I know you’re mad at me_ _but I can explain_ _i promise_

_\---_

Eric is at work when he gets the text.

_Yeah._ _Of course_

_\---_

When Eric gets home, Alvie’s sitting on the couch, this time. No longer sleeping on it. He’s dressed and it’s clear he’s made an effort to comb his hair, to look presentable, even if his cowlick still sticks up a little in the back. He sniffs and keeps his gaze down, knowing well he’s got some fessing up to do, even if he’s not quite ready to do so.

“Hi,” Alvie says quietly, his voice raw from lack of use. “Uhm. I’m sorry. For how I been the last few days or— however long.”

He manages to look up, meeting Eric’s gaze with a sad, heavy one of his own.

“I didn’t mean to make you upset or mad with me or whatever. I can’t...control when I get like that. It’s a brain thing? I uh...I got bipolar disorder. And it makes me...like that, sometimes.”

Eric feels wave after wave of guilt as Alvie talks and moves to sit beside him, taking his hands.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asks softly.

Alvie shrugs softly, his hands loosely curling into Eric’s hold on them.

“I didn’t want you to leave. I never...I never been with someone this long, you know?” he sniffs, laughing a little even though it’s not funny. “Not usually around long enough to ever _have_ to talk about it. And I knew I shoulda told you sooner, but... I dunno. It was stupid. I jus’ didn’t want you to think I was crazy or nothin’.”

Eric has always considered himself compassionate-its why he'd originally planned on going to medical school. He pulls Alvie against him, kissing hos forehead and rubbing his back.

"We'll get through this."

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we have little Alvie and some of his background. Don't get too attached to Eric. I promise. He's a trip. Remember, tiredalwavs and I LOVE to discuss this fic. We love suggestions, questions, comments. And we always try to respond to feedback very quickly!

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes. A lot of the feedback we got from the original fic was Alvie just sort of 'appeared' so we're going to go slower this time and swap off for a bit in the beginning-Ruben chapter, Alvie chapter, Ruben chapter, Alvie chapter-just to build up some of their backstory before the boys actually meet.  
> Jamaica will still be brought out in fragments, but now you'll get to see Alvie's history too!  
> We love feedback so any questions, comments, suggestions, tiredalwavs and I are more than open to discuss-we love discussion, so even if it's about "what color were Ruben's shoelaces?" we can have a full shoelace discussion. We'd love that!


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